'There is no need. I told my master that he could do nothing. Let us consider our own safety and go back,' said Subdul.
'But if any of them should be alive.'
'It is impossible. The fiends have done their work too well.'
'I must look for the child, Subdul. If she is there—but she cannot be; she cannot.'
'Listen,' said Subdul. 'What is that?'
They stopped. A low piping, sweet and clear, like the voice of an English song-bird in the fresh dawn of the summer morning, fell upon their ears. It came from a rose thicket, which lay to the right of the path. In a second Tom was on his feet and had thrown his reins to Subdul Khan. He stood for a moment listening, moving softly in the direction whence the sounds had come, and then stood again. He could now hear a little flutter, as of frightened breathing, and could dimly discern a white figure moving amongst the bushes.
With a beating heart he went nearer. A fugitive, probably a native servant, who would be able to tell him what he desired to know. He was almost afraid of moving, lest he should startle her, and was pondering how he could make known that he was a friend, when the piping bird-like voice, which he had first heard, began again:
There is a happy land, Far, far away,
Where saints in glory stand, Bright, bright as day.
Sweetly the baby-voice lisped the sweet words. He could scarcely restrain himself. He made an involuntary movement, and the voice of the woman, faint with terror, came towards him: 'Hushee! Hushee! Missy Sahib. Some one is near.'
'God is near,' piped the sweet little voice. 'I saw His wings. They were so big, so big! I want Him to carry us away. I am so tired, and I don't like hiding all this time. Do you think He will?'